


The Masked Wolf

by ChristinaS412



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya-centric, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Starks (ASoIaF), Death Threats, Enemies, Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Gendrya - Freeform, Hinted Relationships, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, POV Arya Stark, Post-Canon Fix-It, Threats of Violence, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 13:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaS412/pseuds/ChristinaS412
Summary: Arya confronts Jamie about his involvement in the war crimes committed against her family.“Remember my mercy Ser Jamie, or winter will come for you and take back that bastard sword forged from my father's blood.”





	The Masked Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Still procrastinating instead of working on my WIPs, and wishfully dreaming about the scenes we didn't get in season 8, so please enjoy this little fix-it interaction between two of my favorite characters!

Pale grey eyes surveyed the great hall, watching as survivors reunited to the off beat tune of a small band. Outside the pyres still burned, cloaking the skies in great billowing clouds of ash and smoke. It made her stomach roll with the bitter memories of Harrenhall. It made no difference that these men followed her brothers command. They had survived the dead, and by that account would also follow their hearts desires up any unlucky girls skirts. 

_Let them try_, Arya thought coldly from her place hidden in the shadows against the wall opposite the dais. Her dagger would pierce their skin of their inner thigh as easily as it had the night kings armor. And _gladly_ so. Shifting her weight uncomfortably at the memory of Yoren threatening the Kingsguard, Arya tried to focus on watching the guests again, when she recognized familiar green eyes. Fingers resting on Needles pommel she made her way through the throng of party-goers toward the door.

When Jamie Lannister finally noticed her silent presence beside him he nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes wide with sudden nervousness. “Lady Stark.”

“Lannister,” she replied in kind, offering him a stiff nod. 

He seemed to contemplate her motives for a moment before following her lead, “I suppose I should thank you for being the _savior of the long night_.” 

It was enough to earn the rise of a lone eyebrow from her, “Save your graces for someone else.” Pausing for a moment Arya glanced up at him, “You should join the feast.”

“Oh I’m not much for celebrations,” He offered apologetically. 

_A lie_, though he was too busy playing his role to notice the slip up. “You celebrated with the Frey's at the Twins after sacking Riverrun and murdering the Blackfish, did you not?”

_There_, Arya nearly smiled when the emotions flickered across his face like an open book. So easy to read she could see the moment his confusion was overcome by a flash of anger. “We - _I_ didn’t murder the Blackfish. Not that’s any of your concern, but he died fighting.” Lips twisting into a frown as he struggled to keep his tone civil Jamie's gaze softened, “I’m sorry for your family, but he did die honorably.” 

“More honorable than you, celebrating with the Frey's while holding my uncle hostage,” she remarked.

“I -yes. ” He finally relented, too exhausted from the fighting to care much about semantics. “What does it matter? I don’t recall seeing you there, judging me as you are now.”

Her lips twitched at that, “you did.” 

“I think I would have remembered seeing a young Stark girl there.” Jamie retorted eyes narrowing. 

“You were sitting at a table with that cut throat friend of yours,” she recalled offering him the same innocent smile she had when she had served him his wine that night. “He was under the impression I wanted to sleep with you.”

Watching his green eyes scan her features Arya nodded as Jamie tried to think back on that night. “-the serving girl?”

“It wasn’t the first time I served your family,” she remarked as though it was any explanation, clasping her hands behind her back. 

“How?” Struggling to keep up with her words Jamie’s eyebrows knit together, “When? with Who?”

“I was your father's cup-bearer at Harrenhall.”

That seemed to push him over the edge, shaking his head Jamie smiled in disbelief, “I don’t mean to offend my Lady, but I assure you that my father would have known if his cup-bearer was the very girl he was trying to find. Though your story is a clever one, did Varys and his little birds put you up to this?” 

“It was your father that taught you how to read, wasn’t it?” Arya wondered, changing the subject with a subtle tilt of her head as she continued. “He spent four hours with you every day until you learned because you hadn’t been able to make sense of the letters and reversed them in your head.” 

Twisting to face her fully Jamie’s face paled in the flickering torch light, “Who told you that? Was it Tyrion, did he fill your head with these stories?” 

“I learned a great many things serving your father.” she reflected, turning her attention back to the dais where Jon, Sansa and Bran sat enjoying the feast. “I regret not serving him his own pie when I had had the chance.” If she had only offered his name to Jaqen, things might have ended differently. Maybe Robb, or Rickon, or even her Lady mother might have lived long enough to see the dawn. That was a childs wish though. 

“Then the Frey's… my gods.” Jamie braced himself, pulling Arya back to the presence as he gripped the pommel of Widowswail to keep his knees from buckling beneath him. “You were the one...” 

Offering him a thin lipped smile Arya met his look of horror, “Remember my mercy Ser Jamie, or winter will come for you and take back that bastard sword forged from my father's blood.” With that she spun on her heels leaving him there to contemplate her words. The dawn had come, and with it the Starks who's sigil bore the head of a direwolf. And wolves did not yield. It was time their enemies were reminded of that.

**Author's Note:**

> whew only 780 words? who would've thought. I swear I wrote three chapters worth lol  
Please don't forget to leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed this!


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